Life Lessons
by wrathchilde
Summary: SOA one-shots. One man's journey of realization - MCs, brotherhood & patches. OC interacting with SOA characters.


_**Standard Disclaimer:**__ I own no rights to any of the SOA characters, but Josh is all mine._

**A Word to the Wise**

Josh was already in a mood to fight, so when the biker bumped him as he was making his way back to his table and spilled his drink - and told _him_ to watch where _he_ was going - he figured enough was enough. Sure, there were a couple of them; but he had his own friends there too.

Turning around to say something back, he found an old man standing between him and the group of bikers. True, the old man was big, but he was in poor health. He had an oxygen tank strapped to his side. A filthy denim vest draped over his baggy clothes.

"I wouldn't do that, son, if I were you."

Josh looked him in the eye and said, "Old man, get out of the way. Or you'll be the first one I take down."

The old man just shook his head and said, "Son, I don't think you realize exactly what it is you're gonna bite into here."

Clenching his fists, Josh said, "Oh, yeah? Why don't you tell me."

The old man looked at Josh. "Look. We're an MC, boy. An outlaw club. Sons of Anarchy. People in these parts know who we are. Our vest is our road map of life. You see this? It says First Nine. I'm a charter member. I made this club back before you were a gleam in your mama's eye.

"The guys behind me have my back. Good, bad, indifferent. Whether or not I start the problem, they're the ones that are gonna finish it for me. And I just want you to look. See the young gentleman over there with the blonde hair? It says Vice President on his chest? That's the second most important man in the club. No-one touches him.

"The guy standing next to him is our President. He's a badass amongst badasses. He's in charge of the whole damn crew. His is the word of God. Now what I want you to do is reconsider. We don't go looking for problems, boy, but we will clean up the ones we find. You want to think sharply.

"The gentleman that bumped you? Look closely at what it says there on his vest. Sergeant at Arms. That means he's responsible for discipline, order in the club. He enforces the rules and the letter of the law amongst us disorderly rabble. He is the hand of God.

"If you look on the other side of his vest it says Redwood Originals. That means he's from Charming, the mother chapter of the Sons of Anarchy. It means he's the national Sergeant at Arms. A hardcase amongst hardcases, boy. Setting up the law and the rules for some of the meanest men you'll ever know. He might not be the meanest or the scariest, but he's got access to those men and tells them what to do.

"Do you really want to be walking down the street one night thinking your life is going oh so well and then have your pretty little college career ruined in the blink of an eye? One guy steps out of the shadows and into your path, and that will be the last thing you ever see. Say something wrong, do something crosswise, that's liable to happen to you.

"Just sit down, enjoy your drink, and forget this ever happened. You might think you're the biggest dog on the block, and you may be, but you know what? You're certainly not the meanest. So if you want to dance, boy, you go ahead and dance. But I'll ask you this. You ever try picking up bloody teeth with broken fingers? Just something to consider."

Josh took a half step back and looked at the old man, considering exactly what may or may not happen next. He didn't want to look like too much of a pussy in front of his friends, but it was probably too late for that. Looking over his shoulder he saw that some of his buddies were already inching their way towards the door. The old man was right. This is something he didn't want to handle, especially without any backup. He wasn't tough enough to take on a whole club alone.

"Fine. Just remember…next time old man, you all might not run in a pack. You'll be seeing me."

"That's fine," said the old man. "But just remember, we don't ever go alone and we certainly don't leave business unfinished."

As the old man finished talking, a young guy started moving across the bar towards the two of them. This is what the old man must've looked like in his heyday, Josh thought. Six foot five, six foot six, and all muscle. A glint in his eye said _I could be your best friend_, or _I could be the worst thing that ever happens to you_.

"There a problem Pop?"

The old man just looked over his shoulder at the young guy. "Just talking to the college boy, Ope."

Josh looked around again and saw that all his so-called friends were gone. The old man looked him in the eye.

"Is there a problem?"

Josh answered sincerely. "No. There ain't no problems here old man. Think I'll just be going. Maybe find some other place to get a drink."

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea."

Josh turned and started to leave. He looked back over his shoulder.

"Hey old man."

"What?"

"Thanks."

*o*o*o*

_**AN:**__ I once again thank my wife for the polish. Just a little something to explain the hierarchy of an MC. All comments are welcome. Leave negativity at the door. Thank you._


End file.
